Duty's End
by VirtuousVirtuoso
Summary: A simple tragic tale of a forlorn Knight in her last moments of life. There is no happy ending, no salvation, and nor does our hero die in a heroic fashion. Yet she dies in blissful repose. Note: does not contain any recognisable characters nor are they described. Additionally, this is a short story. For Honor was my general inspiration for the characters' motives and setting.
1. Duty's End

Duty's End

A volley of arrows was loosed and as they fell so did the valiant Knight, struck down with points of iron in her breast. Soon her coat of arms coloured a deep scarlet. A golden dragon on white fields quickly drowned in red, white stained and sodden with blood. And as the Knight breathed, and wheezed for air she soon shed tears, hidden, beneath her helm.

"A Knight should not cry." she told herself "It would be unbecoming of a Knight" but as much as she had tried, demanded to become as hard as steel, she could not. She did not weep because of the pain, nor did she wail. She simply lay in silence upon her back, alone in those green fields. With what little to do she looked up to the setting sky, her heavy breath the only thing she could hear as sounds of clashing steel, and the whistle of flying arrows dulled out. And atop that lonely hill, she awaited her fate, alone.

The Knight did not fear death. Ever since she volunteered to join the order from the orphanage, she had known that many a knight, whether righteous or evil would perish before they would grow old and resign themselves, She had known that this was war but yet still knowing this she wondered "Is this the way that I shall die, without even a death by the hands of a warrior? Am I to die, alone with the company of but myself?" and as she questioned her impending doom before long she whimpered in defeat.

In defeat, for she was to die atop this damnable hill, to pass away lacking a death of glory. And that she was to die, alone. She could not, she would not allow this, with all her might she would deny her fate, however small or insignificant the difference. She would not die, alone.

And as if a messenger of the divine to the devout, a fellow Knight of her order stood before her, clad in indented plate and shredded leather. He was Alistair, one of the Knight's closest of friends. Swiftly Alistair ran to his comrade, a hobble in his step, and held her within his arms. O How she rejoiced in her heart, to die at the least with someone in her company. And as she relented at death's slow soothing touch, the Knight heard Alistair whisper in pleading prayer, that God, save his friend, his companion, his Teresa. Hearing his hushed words before her soon inevitable death she thought, "O Foolish Alistair, O Sweet Alistair, forgive me." and for one last time she lifted the visor of his helm and touched his cheek.


	2. The Fallen Half

**The Fallen Half**

Broken lay my soul, as did my Teresa. Felled by arrows that dug deep through plate and leather she lay broken. The fletching of arrows fluttering in the wind. A harrowing sound escaping her lips. A sight I could bear no longer. And so in a stumbling crippled sprint I hobbled towards her.

The clatter of dented armor was all that I could hear as I raced to be with my paramour. The bruises and cuts on my body soon became quiet as she lay dying, and when I had reached my beloved and held her still in my arms I saw in bitterness that her life, was forfeit. The arrows were lodged in her breast. Her once immaculate coat of arms now a coat of wet blood. And now without delay her soul soon to be reaped.

The both of us knew that one day the other half would die before the other. The both of us knew that the more we strung ourselves together the harder it would be to unwound our hearts. Yet knowing so we could not resist but to fall so deeply, so blissfully, so foolishly. But in the end the deeper we drifted down and down the harder, we would soon suffocate. And as we had prophesied our vision would quickly come to pass. Teresa would die, and I will forever feel my heart vacant and cold. And so in a desperate tone, I prayed to God, to not take away Teresa, to save her, to heal her, to give me his humble servant but one favor and stay the time of Teresa's death. But God would not relent to my pleas and in despair did I wallow.

And as the sun set, my Teresa raised her arm to lift the visor of my helm and touch my cheek. Willingly did I let her unveil my tears to the world and in the scarce light falling through the visor of her helm did I see the glint of her own.


End file.
